


Ashes

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Justice, a little murder, for those we love, the risks we take, this was no boating accident!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 09:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18870721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Sometimes, justice must be done.





	Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.

          It’s dark in the halls of Arkham Asylum. Maybe it’s the shadows of insanity lingering. The night crew is just making their rounds, but the man lurking in those blackened corners pays them no mind. They are of no consequence. 

          No. His prize lies far beyond the bars that he’s staring at. He sits in D-block cackling like a madman as he attempts to joke. Fifth cell, left side. He’s had this place memorized for a long time. Normally, anyone infiltrating Arkham plans to break someone out, but not this man. He is silent and careful, and his only goal is to protect what he holds dear. That means that the Joker has to die. 

          With weathered hands in a new pair of gloves, he checks the clip of his weapon. He’ll wait as long as he needs to wait for final rounds to be done. His patience is unwavering.  

          The man moves as the final shift goes by, lifting his duplicated keycard and swiping it to get into the cell block. The mask on his face will serve him well for the time being, though it is just a precaution. He walks, slowly and smoothly. He’s not in any hurry. The cameras are looped and once he turns the corner, there is no chance that he’ll be caught. This excursion may have been short-notice, but the plan has been considered many times before.  

          Breaths even and resolve as strong as ever, he approaches the cell containing the Joker. The glass is freshly cleaned and the Joker’s form is laid out neatly on the bed. The tap of his gun against the glass is sharp. 

          Joker startles, sitting up. “What? Did you forget your little baton in my-” He freezes. “Who are you?” 

          “I am the man who is going to send you on your way.” 

          Joker leaps up, laughing long and loud. “It’s about time someone broke me out of here again. It’s been getting a little boring and I’ve only been here for a few hours. None of the guards laugh at my jokes. They’ve got no sense of humor, I tell you.” 

          The man raises his gun to one of the ventilation holes. “Not quite the 'way' I was referring to, I’m afraid.” 

          “Wait a minute! There’s no need for that.” 

          The gunman will not be deterred. He fully intends to carry out his mission. He aims at the Joker’s head, and the man in question senses that he won’t be stopped. He raises his hands in defense.  

          “Now wait a second. I’ve gotta get in one last laugh. I’ll- I’ll tell you a joke! A guy walks into a-” 

          He fires, the suppressed shot not making enough noise to draw attention. Joker goes down, blood pooling on the floor underneath him. With crisp steps, the gunman turns around, leaving behind the body of the man who has hurt his family one too many times.  

          The shadows of the halls seem to swallow him up and he leaves the building without a trace. Not a single eye sees him exit the gates of Arkham Asylum and he drives home with no one the wiser. He arrives within a half-hour, having stopped off at one point to bury the gun and another spot to burn his clothes. He buried the ashes and then changed into his usual state of dress.

          Now, he steps into the house without a sound, hearing laughter coming from the den. He picks up a tray from the nearby table, the silver shining and gleaming. A quick stop at the kitchen and the tray is ready to be taken out to the people warming themselves by the fire.  

          His charge – which he has been from a young age – turns upon his entry. “Alfred. I thought you’d gone to bed.” 

          “I heard you were up and about and thought I might bring you something to warm your bones.” 

          Dick, who is nursing Tim’s broken leg on the couch, smiles. “Hot chocolate?” 

          Alfred’s eyes betray nothing. There is no regret, and even he has his own secrets from Bruce. “Of course, Master Dick. Just the way you like it.” 


End file.
